


if you’re willing to choose

by dreamtiwasanarchitect



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (of a sort), Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Enemies to Lovers, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Finger Sucking, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rimming, Whipping, Xena-Level Historical Accuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtiwasanarchitect/pseuds/dreamtiwasanarchitect
Summary: Normally he would have slain such a worthy foe, but something had overtaken Nicolò as the man stared up at him. The man was beautiful, and Nicolò—hewanted.———Yusuf glanced at the invader’s pale, cold face and his stormy sea-glass eyes. Perhaps he ought not have surrendered.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 108
Kudos: 180





	1. nothing to lose

**Author's Note:**

> For this kinkmeme prompt wherein Joe is Nicky's "spoils of war":  
> "Pretty much what it says on the tin: Their countries are at war. Joe is just a rank-and-file soldier, but when their armies meet he fights extremely well, even getting close to the enemy general before he’s brought down. Nicky’s intrigued by Joe’s fighting spirit (and his stunning good looks), so after the battle he takes Joe as his personal prisoner.
> 
> Give me battles of wits, Joe in pretty shackles, Nicky trying to break his pet to heel (or just having a lot of fun) with kinky punishments...go wild!"
> 
> Note the very, very dubious consent. This is not an exceptionally dark fic, imo, but it's definitely not the usual levels of fluff. If you'd like a more detailed description to judge if this is for you or not, feel free to message me on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/).

The fighting had been going on for nearly three days. Yusuf had managed to stay alive thus far, which came as a surprise to him as much as anyone else—before his king had called on every able-bodied man to join the fight, he’d been a merchant and had never held a sword in his life.

But today, Yusuf had cut his way through the melee, getting closer to the enemy encampment than any of his fellow soldiers, at least that he could see. He was currently locked in battle with a broad-shoulder invader. All around him, his countrymen were being felled, but the anger of it seemed to fuel Yusuf to fight more ferociously.

He and the invader traded blows, neither able to gain an edge, until another dueling pair knocked into Yusuf’s right. It gave his opponent the split second he needed to press his advantage, and Yusuf ended up sprawled on the ground, his sword knocked out of reach. He waited in anticipation of the killing blow, but none came.

The invader lifted his sword to Yusuf’s chin. “Surrender,” he said in Yusuf’s own language, though his strange accent made him near-impossible to understand. 

Before the fighting began, all the soldiers had been told never to surrender to the invaders—but surely, Yusuf thought, it was better to live to fight another day?

“Surrender,” he replied, and nodded to make his meaning clear. 

The man did not quite smile, but his lip curled. He planted a knee on Yusuf’s chest and Yusuf grunted with pain as the sudden weight knocked the air from his lungs. The invader seized Yusuf’s hands and bound them with coarse rope, then pulled Yusuf to stand. 

As he looked around the battlefield, Yusuf saw the invading army had taken it; all of his countrymen were dead or out of sight in retreat. 

He glanced at the invader’s pale, cold face and his stormy sea-glass eyes. Perhaps he ought not have surrendered. 

———

Nicolò used the long end of the rope to tug his captive along. Normally he would have slain such a worthy foe, but something had overtaken Nicolò as the man stared up at him. The man was beautiful, and Nicolò—he wanted, a gnawing desire the like of which he’d never felt before.

As there were preparations he needed to oversee and councils he needed to attend, he handed the man’s rope to one of his soldiers. 

“Take him to my tent,” Nicolò instructed in their own tongue. The man looked at Nicolò with uncertainty—he must not have known any of Nicolò’s language—and Nicolò felt a twinge of guilt, which he quickly brushed aside.

Nicolò attended to the business of setting up camp and conferring with the other generals as quickly as he could. Night fell, and he came back to his own tent to find Yusuf tied to the tent post. 

Now that he was alone with his prisoner—his war prize, some dark thing hissed in his head—he did not know what to do. 

“Do you speak the common tongue?” Nicolò asked him.

The man nodded. “Yes.”

“And what shall I call you?”

“My name is Yusuf. What’s yours?” 

Nicolò hesitated; there was power in a name. Still, Yusuf would need to address him at some point. “I am Nicolò,” he told him.

Yusuf’s eyes were large, dark, and glittering. His face was smeared with blood and grime, much like Nicolò’s, but it was clear he was an exceedingly good-looking man despite it. 

There came a knock at the tent flap, and at Nicolò’s signal several camp aides carried in food, drink, and large basin of water.

Nicolò cleaned his hands and helped himself to a bit of bread and dried meat. Yusuf watched him intently. After Nicolò had taken the edge off his own hunger, he approached Yusuf and lifted a date to his mouth. 

Yusuf pressed himself further back against the post when he realized Nicolò’s intention. “I’ve surrendered,” he said. “Untie me and I’ll feed myself.”

Nicolò shook his head. “No. You’ll eat like this, or you’ll hunger until tomorrow.”

Yusuf’s eyes narrowed, but he leaned forward and took the date in his teeth, careful to avoid making contact with Nicolò’s fingers. He eyed Nicolò warily as he chewed.

Nicolò fed him him a piece of bread next, and this time his fingers brushed against Yusuf’s lips. The sensation sparked something in his belly, and he craved more, heedless of Yusuf’s scowl of displeasure.

After he fed Yusuf another date, Nicolò slipped his fingers into the other man’s mouth and trailed them over his tongue, his teeth, the roof of his mouth, marveling at the intimacy of it before Yusuf bit down. 

Nicolò cried out in pain and wrenched his hand away. He used his other to slap Yusuf across his face. Despite the red mark on his cheek, the man looked smug.

“I have had men whipped for less,” Nicolò hissed.

Yusuf shrugged, his posture radiating defiance, though there was a glint of worry in his eyes.

“I will forgive it, this once,” Nicolò told him. “But you must open your mouth.” 

Yusuf swallowed, lips pressed tight. Nicolò took a step toward the tent flap.

“Wait,” Yusuf said. His eyes fluttered shut, and he let his jaw drop open. 

Nicolò moved back to him and stuck his middle and index fingers into Yusuf’s mouth. He stroked Yusuf’s tongue and pressed his fingers back until Yusuf made a small gagging sound.

“Suck,” Nicolò ordered.

Yusuf stared, eyes burning with rage and humiliation. A bit of drool leaked from the edge of his mouth.

Nicolò _tsk_ ed. “Or shall I have them fetch the whip?”

Yusuf’s eyes shut again, and he closed his lips around Nicolò’s fingers.

Nicolò could not help the small noise that escaped him as Yusuf began to suck. The feeling was strange, but it was not hard to imagine the same slick suction applied to his cock, and he twitched in his breeches. “Good,” he told Yusuf, and pulled his fingers away.

The man glared at him in stony silence as Nicolò began to undress and wipe himself clean with the water in the basin. He made quick work of it—it was not pleasant like true bath, and he was eager to give Yusuf the same treatment.

After he had dressed in fresh (or at least, fresher) clothing, he untied the rope binding Yusuf. “Stand and undress,” he said.

For a moment, it looked as though Yusuf would defy him again, but he was quick enough to obey. Progress, Nicolò thought with dark satisfaction. 

He dipped the cloth in the basin and approached Yusuf. Before the other could react, Nicolò ran it over his shoulder, which was caked with another man’s blood.

Yusuf jumped. “I am capable of doing that myself,” he said through gritted teeth.

Nicolò ignored him, choosing to focus on Yusuf’s beautiful skin and his comely muscles, rather than his ugly words. He had seen many men’s nude forms, but he had never had the opportunity to _look_ like he could now. 

“You fought well,” Nicolò said as he wiped Yusuf’s underarm. He felt Yusuf’s derisive huff of breath ruffle his hair. 

When Yusuf was at least as clean as Nicolò himself (and perhaps even cleaner), Nicolò let the cloth drop over the side of the basin and presented Yusuf with new clothes. He thought he saw something like relief pass over the man’s face, but the next thing he knew, he was on the ground with one of Yusuf’s arms wrapped around his neck.

He planted his feet and attempted to throw Yusuf off, but his hold was too strong. Nicolò took a deep breath, though it was no easy task—he already felt light-headed. He thought, too late, that it would have been wiser to keep Yusuf hungry and famished while he was untied. 

“Release me,” he demanded. “There are men stationed outside this tent. You will not escape, and they’ll give you worse than a whipping once they see you’ve harmed me.”

Yusuf did not let him go, but his hold loosened fractionally as he appeared to consider Nicolò’s words, and that was all Nicolò needed. He broke free of Yusuf’s grasp and seized his knife, bringing it to the other’s throat.

“Try that again and I personally will give you worse than a whipping,” he said darkly.

Yusuf’s nostrils flared, but he raised his hands in defeat. 

“Dress, and be quick about it,” Nicolò commanded. 

After Yusuf dressed, Nicolò re-bound him to the tent post.

“I would like you to share my bedroll,” Nicolò told him. “But I fear waking with my throat slit.”

Yusuf did not speak, but the sharp spark in his eyes told Nicolò all he needed to know. 

———

Yusuf had a terrible night’s sleep, bound as he was. He had just begun a new round of dozing when he felt the ropes jostle. Nicolò was untying him from the tent post. 

Yusuf was struck by the juxtaposition of such a beautiful-sounding name belonging to a man as brutal as this invader. Nicolò’s face was all harsh lines, though the sum of his features was not unpleasant to look at. His eyes were a color that Yusuf would have otherwise itched to paint, but there was a cool intensity to them that made him want to look away. 

Untethered, though still bound at the wrists, Yusuf attempted to stand, but his legs were cramped from the sitting position he’d held all night. Nicolò watched him struggle for a moment, then took him by the shoulders and pulled him up. 

He held a flask to Yusuf’s lips, and Yusuf’s mouth was so dry and parched he didn’t consider asking what was in it—though to his relief, it was water. He drank until Nicolò took the flask from him. 

Wiping his mouth on his shoulder, Yusuf looked around the tent. The bedroll had been removed, as had the basin and the other few adornments. He had a suspicion the army was about to move on, and it was confirmed with Nicolò pulled him from the tent. All around, there was a frenzy of movement as wagons were packed and horses were loaded with saddlebags. No sooner were they out of the tent than another servant hastened forward to take it down. 

A soldier approached them, leading a horse by its reins. He and Nicolò exchanged a few short words in their own language, then Nicolò turned to Yusuf.

“Mount,” he said, gesturing. 

It was not an easy task with his hands bound, but Yusuf managed. A moment later, Nicolò swung up behind him, his chest pressed against Yusuf’s back and his chin grazing Yusuf’s shoulder as he looked over it. He snapped the reins and the horse cantered forward. Soon, they were at the front of the mass of people.

Yusuf had not ridden with another since he was a boy, and he felt unsteady on the horse without control of its movements. But they rode for what seemed like a very long time, and as Yusuf grew more accustomed to the strangeness, he felt his eyes start to droop shut.

He jolted awake suddenly. He had slumped back into Nicolò, his head lolling on the other’s shoulder, and he could feel Nicolò’s breath on his cheek.

Yusuf straightened and glanced around. Their company was only a fourth of the size—if that—as it had been when they left. How had they lost hundreds of men—and how far had they traveled? 

“Where are we going?” Yusuf asked, trying to right himself. His nap had left him even more disoriented.

“My men and I are returning to our homeland,” Nicolò said. So it was as Yusuf had guessed—he had not surrendered to a mere foot soldier like himself, but someone of great ranking within the invading army, and who perhaps even led a portion of it. 

He also realized with some alarm that they were leaving his home far behind. Once again, he wondered if surrender had been the wisest course of action. 

“You snore in your sleep,” Nicolò said, and Yusuf was at a loss as for how to respond. He noticed Nicolò’s arm was wound around his waist, the heat of him burning like a brand event through their clothes. 

He noticed something else, then, too—Nicolò’s cock pressing against his backside. 

It did not come as a surprise. Yusuf knew enough of the world to know what might happen to war prisoners when he surrendered, and after last night there could be no doubt—Nicolò desired him. It may have even been the reason he accepted surrender instead of dealing Yusuf a killing blow. 

It was only a matter of time until Nicolò fucked him. The thought of the act alone did not trouble Yusuf, as he had lain with men before and enjoyed it. Under different circumstances he may have even willingly lain with Nicolò (his handsome form had not gone unnoticed by Yusuf when he disrobed), but the thought of getting on his back—or hands and knees—for one of the men who led the attack on his home made Yusuf’s stomach turn.

He resolved to escape, or die in the attempt, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, and he did not have to wait long. The army, or at least this small contingent of it, stopped to make camp, and Yusuf was handed off to another soldier. 

Alone with the man in the tent, it was easy enough to incapacitate him. Yusuf used the man’s knife to cut his own ropes, then crept out of the tent. Beyond the camp, he saw a forested area. If he was lucky, Nicolò would not bother sending men after him once he disappeared into it. If he was especially lucky, some of them would get lost and starve in their attempt to find him. 

Yusuf took off running. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist, Nicky is a virgin ~~who can't drive~~. I usually get a little further in my WIPs before I begin posting them, so this is a bit of an experiment. I would love, love, love your comments.


	2. take you down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, mind the tags. If you would like to know more about the exact dynamic/nature of the dubcon, I'm happy to answer questions on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/).

When Nicolò returned to his tent, there was no Yusuf, only Marcello, who was lying on the ground with his neck bent at an unnatural angle. 

Nicolò swore. 

He raced from the tent to snatch his horse’s reins from the servant’s hand. He circled the perimeter of the camp, but he saw no sign of Yusuf.

He cursed again, thinking hard. As he stared, lost in thought, the small green area ahead caught his gaze. Would Yusuf have thought put as much distance between them, rather than hide in plain sight? 

If he was in the camp, Nicolò was certain he’d be found sooner rather than later, though he might wreak further damage in the meantime. If he was headed for the woods, he had a chance at hiding himself so well that Nicolò would not be able to find him without delaying his entire army’s journey home. But he did not have much of a head start—and on foot, he would be at a disadvantage.

Mind made up, Nicolò snapped the horse’s reins and sped toward the forest.

He rode hard, and in minutes he saw a figure in the distance. Soon, he pulled up on the reins as he circled Yusuf. Though he panted from exertion and his brow glistened with sweat, he glared at Nicolò, challenge in his eyes.

Nicolò drew his sword. “I will not drag you,” he said. “You will come back and you will cease this, or you will die here.” He wanted Yusuf, and he did not mind the man’s vigor—he liked it, even—but he had fought enough battles recently. He was tired of fighting. 

Yusuf’s face was wrinkled in deliberation, his mouth turned down unhappily. “I will come back,” he said finally. His words fell between them like the cling of steel.

Nicolò searched his face, and he saw the resolve there. He was certain this would not be the end of Yusuf’s defiance, but it was clear the man valued his own life more than besting Nicolò in this contest of wills. 

“Very well,” Nicolò said, and he moved back to make room. “Come.”

Yusuf mounted the horse and they rode back to the camp in silence. Nicolò felt the eyes of a few men linger on them, and when they entered the tent, he saw Marcello’s body had been removed. 

“You killed one of my men,” Nicolò told Yusuf as he bent to collect the rope coiled on the ground.

Yusuf shrugged a shoulder. “What of it? How many of my countrymen did he kill?”

Nicolò’s hands clenched around the rope. “On your belly.”

Yusuf blinked at him. “What—”

“On the ground, on your belly. I will not tell you again.”

Yusuf’s eyes went wide, but he slowly lowered himself. He propped his front up on his elbows, but Nicolò sat on Yusuf’s thighs and seized his arms, yanking them behind his back. He bound Yusuf’s wrists together and turned so that he sat facing Yusuf’s feet. He tied Yusuf’s ankles together, then bent his legs to tie them to his wrists. 

Nicolò stood to survey his work. In this position, Yusuf’s back was bowed and his shoulders wrenched back. He would feel the ache of it in the morning, and he would feel it for some time. Already, Nicolò could see the strain in Yusuf’s face, though he said nothing as Nicolò left the tent. 

He ate around the fire with his men, only listening enough to catch odd snippets of the conversation, most of which was centered around their glorious victory and their long-awaited homecoming. Nicolò had few feelings about either matter and said nothing. He drank some, but once the raucous singing began, he stood and slipped away.

The second he pushed open the tent flap, he was aware of Yusuf’s eyes on him. They glittered even in the dark. He had managed to roll himself from his stomach to his side, which could scarcely be more comfortable, but Nicolò did not remark on it. He stepped around Yusuf to his bedroll and fell into his usual restless sleep. 

He woke with the rising sun and moved to crouch beside Yusuf’s front. 

Yusuf was awake, and there was a redness in his eyes. Had he cried in the night? From pain, or from frustration? He said nothing as Nicolò freed his wrists from his ankles, but he groaned as his body straightened, face wracked with the agony of stiff muscles. 

“Will you cut me free?” Yusuf asked. His voice was measured but tired, and Nicolò thought perhaps he had not slept at all. 

“Soon enough,” Nicolò said. Yusuf curled forward into something like a fetal position, hissing in pain as his spine curved forward, and then there was a rap on the tent.

It was the blacksmith who traveled with them to tend to the horse’s shoes. Nicolò had spoken to him last night, and he was pleased to see the man had done his bidding. 

“Will these do, sir?” the blacksmith asked. He held up a pair of manacles. 

“Yes. Good.” Nicolò motioned him forward as he began to untie Yusuf’s wrists and ankles. Yusuf’s hands were only unbound for a moment before the chains closed around his wrists. The blacksmith locked them and handed Nicolò the key.

Through it all, Yusuf kept stoic, seemingly resigned to his fate, though Nicolò was still not convinced he would remain that way. The blacksmith left, and Nicolò helped Yusuf to his feet. Again, he let out a low, pained noise.

Nicolò led Yusuf from the tent. Outside, his horse was already readied. Yusuf’s shackles had a length of chain running from them, and Nicolò attached this to his saddle before he mounted.

He glanced down at Yusuf, who had already placed a hand on the pommel. Nicolò shook his head. “Your chains are too weighty. You’ll walk beside me today.” 

For the first time, Yusuf looked at him with despair. They held each other’s gazes for a moment, and Nicolò thought Yusuf would try to plead with him, but then he looked away, his face set with stony resolve. 

Nicolò could not help but admire it. He knew Yusuf was aching from his night spent in a hogtie, but what Yusuf did not know what that it would be a short day’s walk to their final destination. He told himself it was not so cruel—only a fitting punishment. 

———

Yusuf’s entire body ached as he walked alongside Nicolò’s horse. He knew it was further retribution for killing the solider and attempting escape, but in addition to being a sadistic method of enacting justice, it was also really a bit stupid, Yusuf thought, for the entire army had slowed to match Yusuf’s walking pace.

Still, if Nicolò’s aim had been to humiliate Yusuf—and he was sure it was—he had succeeded. He felt the eyes of a hundred men on him. 

They did not break for a mid-day rest or meal, but the sun was still high in the sky when they approached a town. Yusuf glanced Nicolò, who held his gaze.

“This is it?” Yusuf’s voice was hoarse—it was the first time he’d spoken since he asked to be cut free.

“Yes,” Nicolò told him. 

Slowly the army began to disperse as men returned to their homes. Nicolò’s seemed to be on the far outskirts of the town, and a few aides from the camp accompanied them. 

The house they arrived at was well-built and spacious, but not ostentatiously large. It was surrounded by an open area, far away from other dwellings.

Nicolò unchained his shackles from the saddle and let his horse be led away by one of the servants while he himself led Yusuf by his chains. 

He brought Yusuf to what could only be his chamber. It was sparsely and simply furnished, but Yusuf could tell everything in the room was well-made. 

Nicolò turned to him. “Will you harm my servants?” 

Yusuf shook his head, and he was not lying. The servants were innocent, unlike the soldiers in Nicolò’s army. Besides, there was little point in trying to run. This far away, surrounded by enemies, he had no chance of making it back to his home. 

Nicolò looked as him, long and assessing, then unlocked the chains. Something tight in Yusuf’s chest released as they fell to the floor in a clatter. 

“Come.” Nicolò brought him to another room where a large basin was already filled with water. 

“There are matters I must see to,” Nicolò told him. “I want you to bathe while I do. Return to my chamber when you’ve finished. Remain undressed.” Without another word, Nicolò left. 

This was clearly a test, Yusuf had nothing to gain by defying Nicolò, so he removed his clothing and climbed into the basin. The water had been heated, and it soothed his sore muscles. Yusuf cleaned himself with a cake of soap and a soft cloth, then luxuriated in the bath. He did not hesitate to take this small pleasure, since he had an idea of what was to come. When the water became tepid, he rose and dried himself. 

Yusuf left his clothing on the floor and cast his gaze out the doorway to see if anyone was about. When he saw the way was clear, he returned to the bed chamber. Someone had started a fire, but the room was still cool. Yusuf considered climbing under the bed covers, but the thought made him feel like he was a virginal bride awaiting his husband. 

Instead, he arranged himself on the bed in the most unashamed manner he could manage. Yusuf did not want to acquiesce to Nicolò, but neither did he want to feel powerless. If this was to happen, at the very least he could attempt to have some agency.

He did not think Nicolò would take pleasure in causing him undue pain. Yusuf had known sadistic men, and Nicolò was not one, despite how callously he’d treated Yusuf. Perhaps if Yusuf behaved agreeably, he would even be able to find some enjoyment in the act, at least on a purely physical level. 

Yusuf had just begun imaging what this strange man would specifically desire of him when Nicolò reappeared. His hair was damp, and he smelled sweet. Yusuf supposed he should be grateful that he’d bathed, too.

His eyes raked over Yusuf’s body. “You did as I asked,” he said, and there was a note of wonder in his voice.

“I did as you told me,” Yusuf corrected him, then cursed. Already he was foiling his own plans to be accommodating. 

Nicolò did not look angry—he even looked a little amused, Yusuf thought. “Continue to do so,” he said, then shed his robe and climbed on to the bed. He knelt in front of Yusuf, and Yusuf pushed himself to sit upright, waiting. 

The moment dragged on. Nicolò stared at Yusuf, face unreadable, then said, suddenly, “Kiss me.”

Yusuf froze, utterly taken by surprise. He was still for a few beats, wondering if he’d misheard, but Nicolò only watched him expectantly.

Strangely nervous, Yusuf wet his lips, then leaned forward. At first their kiss was soft, tentative, just a brush of lips, but then Nicolò’s hands fell to rest on Yusuf’s waist, and he began to kiss him back, hard and fast.

The sudden fervor of it set Yusuf on edge. Instinctively, he cupped Nicolò’s face in his hands and tried to slow down the pace. To his surprise, Nicolò followed his lead, so Yusuf licked at his lips slowly until he opened his mouth. 

Yusuf ran his tongue over Nicolò’s, noticing how Nicolò repeated the motion himself. They kissed until Yusuf felt Nicolò’s cock pressed hard and leaking against his belly. Yusuf himself was not entirely unaffected—it had been a good kiss. 

“How do you want me?” he asked. 

Nicolò swallowed. “On your back.” His voice was strangled. Yusuf fought a smirk as he laid back. 

Nicolò settled between his legs, braced on his hands. Yusuf started when he felt Nicolò’s cock already pushing at his rim. 

“Wait,” he said, feeling panicked. 

Nicolò glanced up at him. A few tiny lines creased between his brow. “What?” 

“You—will you not ease the way?” Yusuf was beginning to question his initial assessment of Nicolò’s tastes, but Nicolò only looked more confused. “With oil?”

Nicolò blinked, then stood. He went to the lamp and tipped some of the oil into his hand. Looking back at Yusuf, he slicked his cock with it in slow, measured movements. Yusuf relaxed. 

“I can prepare myself, if you like,” he offered hopefully, and extended his hand. Nicolò still seemed uncertain, but he poured some oil into Yusuf’s outstretched palm. 

For his own part, Yusuf was baffled by Nicolò’s strange behavior, but he could not be bothered to puzzle it out at the moment. Instead, he spread the oil over his fingers and began to circle the tight ring of muscle, lifting his hips for a better angle. Nicolò watched him with hungry eyes from the side of the bed. It was equal parts unsettling and arousing. 

As quickly as he could stand, Yusuf worked himself up to two fingers. He pressed at his own prostate until he was hard again. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the pleasure of it until he felt the bed dip. 

Nicolò sat next to him, and he held Yusuf’s gaze as he ran his fingers down Yusuf’s side, trailing over his thigh and up to meet Yusuf’s hand. His eyes were very wide as one of his own thick fingers slowly pushed in beside Yusuf’s, and he let out a shocked breath when it slid all the way in.   
A new possibility occurred to Yusuf, and he was suddenly desperate to know if what he suspected was true.

Yusuf rocked down on the fingers inside him as he searched for the best way to phrase it. 

“Have you—have you ever…lain with a man?” he asked Nicolò.

Nicolò’s eyes shot up from their fingers. He was very still, and again Yusuf feared he’d gone too far.

“What of it?” Nicolò asked, voice icy. 

Yusuf shook his head. “Nothing,” he assured Nicolò quickly. “I—I only wondered.” 

Nicolò did not respond, but that was answer enough. “I will have you now,” he said, and though his tone was firm, he looked back at Yusuf as if for confirmation.

Yusuf nodded and withdrew his fingers. Nicolò resumed his earlier position, but when he pushed in to Yusuf it did not hurt, at least not more than Yusuf was accustomed to for this particular act. 

“Fuck,” Nicolò hissed. “It feels—” He shifted a little, and Yusuf tried not to wince.

“Give me a moment,” he said. 

Nicolò stilled, but he frowned down at Yusuf. “For what?”

“To become used to the feeling,” Yusuf said. Nicolò’s cock was perhaps the largest he’d taken, though he was not about to tell him that.

Nicolò kept his hips still, but he leaned down to kiss Yusuf. To Yusuf’s delight, he’d already gotten better at it. 

“Go on then,” Yusuf said when they separated. “You can fuck me, now.”

Nicolò wasted no time. His eyes fluttered shut as he began to thrust into Yusuf with quick, hard thrusts that stopped just short of being satisfying. Yusuf tried to re-angle his hips, and when that didn’t yield better results, he took himself in hand.

He’d barely stroked himself before Nicolò let out a long, low groan, and Yusuf felt a rush of wet heat. He glanced up at Nicolò’s face and saw it was screwed up in ecstasy. While it hadn’t been a particularly good fuck, there was some gratification to be had from the knowledge that he’d made this mighty general spend inside him within minutes.

Nicolò rolled off to his side, chest heaving, and Yusuf kept working his cock, having not yet given up hope for release. As Nicolò caught his breath, his eyes caught on the movement of Yusuf’s fist.

He propped himself on an elbow and reached out, though he did not touch. His eyes raised back to Yusuf’s. 

“Here,” Yusuf said, and he took Nicolò’s hand and wrapped it around his cock, then covered it with his own. “I will show you?”

Nicolò nodded, and Yusuf showed him how he best liked to be touched. After a few unsure strokes, Nicolò waved Yusuf’s hand away. 

It was a little strange to lay there—Yusuf wondered what he should do with his hands, now that both were unoccupied—but Nicolò was a fast learner in this as well, and he seemed dead-set on bringing Yusuf to climax. 

“How was it?” Yusuf asked suddenly.

Nicolò glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“Fucking me,” Yusuf said, and it made him feel a little breathless. “How was it.”

To his surprise, Nicolò’s face flushed pink. “It was good. It felt—”

“What?” Yusuf pressed.

Nicolò shook his head. “It was good,” he repeated. “Now be quiet.” He bent and kissed Yusuf again, and shortly after Yusuf shot strips of come all over his belly. His moan was swallowed by Nicolò, who continued to stroke and kiss him until Yusuf started to squirm away as the overstimulation became painful.

Yusuf cast his eyes around the room for some sort of cloth, and settled on Nicolò’s robe when nothing else presented itself. Nicolò tensed when Yusuf left the bed, and watched him hawkishly while he used the robe to wipe the spend from his stomach and ass. 

“That is mine,” Nicolò said, his irritation plain. 

Yusuf shrugged. “What else was I to use?”

Nicolò said nothing. He laid back on the pillows and pulled the bed clothes up around himself. 

Yusuf stood there, naked, with the stained robe clutched awkwardly in his hand. “Ah,” he said. 

“Come here,” Nicolò told him, impatient. 

Yusuf climbed into the bed, carefully arranging himself beneath the covers. Nicolò stared at him in that maddening way of his, then sunk further down. 

“If you attempt to smother me with one of my own pillows, I really shall have you whipped,” he said, and closed his eyes.

And because he did not know what else to do, Yusuf did the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear what you thought in the comments!


	3. pick you clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that things (*cough* Nicky *cough*) in this fic are, uh...not nice. Please feel free to message me on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/) if you'd like a more detailed warning.

Nicolò woke and was overly warm. At some point in the night, Yusuf had rolled from his side of the bed to press against him. Their legs had tangled together and were now slightly damp with Nicolò’s sweat. 

Nicolò retreated to the far side of the bed. He watched Yusuf as he slept and recalled everything that had happened the night prior—the softness of Yusuf’s lips, the wet slide of his tongue, the silky feeling of his skin, and the tight clutch of his hole. 

Just thinking about it made Nicolò’s cock twitch. He wanted to feel it all again, and then he realized—he _could_. He reached out and shook Yusuf’s shoulder until he blinked up at him blearily.

“I want to have you again,” Nicolò said, and he took advantage of Yusuf’s grogginess to push him on to his back. 

Nicolò pulled away the bedding and made spread Yusuf’s legs, but he kept them pressed together. “I’m sore,” he said, voice rasping with sleep.

Nicolò frowned, and he was about to tell Yusuf that he did not particularly care, that Yusuf was his and he would have him when he wanted, sore or no, but then Yusuf spoke again.

“I—what if I had you in my mouth?” he asked. 

Nicolò’s throat went tight and dry as he imagined it. He thought back to the tent, and the feel of Yusuf’s mouth wrapped around his fingers. 

“Yes,” he said. 

Yusuf nodded and looked at him expectantly.

Nicolò was not sure how best to go about it, but he had flaunted his inexperience enough the previous night. After only a moment of quick, scattered thinking, he moved to straddle Yusuf’s head. He looked down at Yusuf for confirmation that this was an acceptable way to perform the act. Yusuf opened his mouth and tongued at the tip of Nicolò’s cock, and that was validation enough, he supposed. 

Nicolò braced his hands against the wall for support. Yusuf’s tongue running up and down his cock was enough to make his thighs shake, and when Yusuf’s lips sealed around him, he gasped. His hips thrust forward, deeper and deeper into Yusuf’s mouth, his throat, and it was better than Nicolò could have ever dreamed. 

“Fuck,” he swore. Idly, he wondered how often Yusuf had done this. He was exceedingly good at it, and while that was no doubt thanks to experience, the thought of anyone else having Yusuf made Nicolò’s blood run hot. 

He told himself it did not matter who had Yusuf before. Now, he would only be Nicolò’s. 

It was that thought that had him spending into Yusuf’s mouth. As Nicolò came back to himself, chest heaving, he kept still, not certain if he could move without collapsing on Yusuf.

Yusuf swallowed, and the sensation was overstimulating to the point of painfulness. Nicolò hissed and pulled away, coming to sit straddling Yusuf’s thighs. 

Yusuf turned his head to the side and spat, splattering Nicolò’s spend on the floor. 

Nicolò smacked his face lightly. “Next time, you will swallow.” 

Yusuf looked at him unhappily, but wisely held his tongue. 

After they dressed and broke their fast, Nicolò brought Yusuf outside to the grounds. He took two wooden swords from the small armory and handed one to Yusuf, who did not take it. 

“Spar with me,” Nicolò said. 

Yusuf’s face was wary, and he eyed the sword as though Nicolò was playing some sort of trick on him. 

“We can make a wager,” Nicolò cajoled. 

Yusuf now looked as curious as he was suspicious. “Of what sort?”

“If I win, I’ll fuck you again. Right here. And I’ll hear no complaint from you.” 

Yusuf’s eyes sharpened. “And if I win?” 

Nicolò hesitated, feeling his face heat. “I will take you in my mouth, as you did for me.”

Yusuf’s eyebrows shot up. “Right here?”

Nicolò scoffed—as though he would chance a servant or anyone else in the town seeing him on his knees for a foreign war prisoner. “In my chambers. But you may choose when,” he allowed. 

Yusuf’s face scrunched as he considered. “Very well. I accept your terms.”

Nicolò nodded, then they crossed swords. However sore Yusuf claimed to be, it was not hindering him in this contest—he fought as fiercely as he had on the battlefield, only this time there was no one to divert his focus from Nicolò.

They were both panting and sweating when at last Yusuf drove Nicolò back and knocked the sword from his hand. For a short moment, Nicolò thought perhaps Yusuf would continue attacking him—that he would try to beat him to death with a wooden sword—but then Yusuf dropped his weapon, too. 

He was watching Nicolò closely, no doubt waiting for him to renege on their bet. 

“Very well,” Nicolò said. “Say when and you shall have your prize.” The thought of what he had offered was both terrifying and arousing.

Yusuf blinked. His eyes were very wide. “This evening,” he said slowly. “After we sup.” 

Nicolò nodded and tried to push away the lust that coiled in his belly like a snake ready to strike. 

———

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Nicolò seemed content to let Yusuf wonder around his home unguarded, though it seemed he was never far from the watchful eyes of servants. It was actually rather dull, spending the day alone, with nothing to do. 

Nicolò found him again when it was evening. Yusuf had been in some sort of study filled with dusty shelves of books. They were written in Nicolò’s tongue, and he was attempting to translate one when Nicolò appeared in the doorway. 

“Come,” he said, and Yusuf set the book down and followed. 

After Nicolò closed the door to his chamber behind them, he turned to face Yusuf. “Shall you have your reward now?”

Their wager had left Yusuf on edge all day. He still half-suspected some sort of trick or trap from Nicolò, but now the man was looking at him with blown pupils and an eager expression.

Yusuf swallowed. “Yes, all right.” He began to disrobe, and Nicolò followed suit. When he was undressed, Yusuf laid on the bed, sunk down into the pillows, and spread his legs.

Nicolò stalked forward and settled between his thighs. He glanced up at Yusuf with hungry eyes, then Yusuf twitched in surprise as Nicolò licked a messy stripe down his cock. Yusuf bit the inside of his cheek, determined not to gasp and moan for Nicolò. 

He only teased for awhile, licking at Yusuf’s cock until he nearly did break and begin to beg, but then Nicolò wrapped his lips around Yusuf, and Yusuf could not help his groan. Nicolò did not take him very deeply, and his teeth scraped a little, but whatever he lacked in experience he compensated for with enthusiasm. Yusuf could tell he was doing his best to mimic what Yusuf had done for him that morning. 

Perhaps this had been a trick, though in a different sense that Yusuf originally thought. He wondered if Nicolò had wanted this outcome—if he’d even lost on purpose—and Yusuf did not know what to think of that possibility. 

Slowly, aware that he might pay a price for doing so, Yusuf let his hand fall on Nicolò’s head. He wove his fingers through the dark, silky hair and gently tugged, trying to direct him into some sort of rhythm. 

Nicolò did not protest, though as Yusuf’s hips began to thrust to meet his mouth, he pulled away. “You will tell me, before you spend. I won’t have it in my mouth,” he said imperiously. 

Yusuf nodded in agreement, though he was still considering doing so anyway—it might have been worth the punishment.

But in the end, his better judgement won out. “Now,” he gasped, and released his hold on Nicolò’s hair. “Now, now.” Nicolò let Yusuf’s cock slip from his lips with a wet pop, and Yusuf replaced the tight, wet heat of his mouth with his own fist. With two strokes, he spent into his hand.

Nicolò’s eyes were dark, and his cock pressed against Yusuf’s thigh. Yusuf was still shuddering with the aftershock of his orgasm when Nicolò ordered, “Take me in your hand.”

Yusuf rolled to his side and did as he was bid. He slicked his own come over Nicolò ’s cock, and the other man inhaled sharply but he did not protest. Yusuf did not know how Nicolò liked to be touched, but perhaps neither did Nicolò, for it did not take long before he spilled in Yusuf’s hand. He was quiet even in the throes of passion, too, and Yusuf wondered if that came naturally to him or if he was trying to follow Yusuf’s example.

When he had recovered, Nicolò used a corner of the bedding (Yusuf’s, specifically) to wipe at the spend smeared on his cock. Yusuf scowled, but he used the same bit to clean his hand. 

Nicolò slid beneath the covers. His eyes were hooded and sleepy, though there was still a sharp glint in them as he looked to Yusuf. “You fight well,” Nicolò told him again, apropos of nothing. “Were you trained in combat?”

“No,” Yusuf said shortly, and then, “I was a merchant.” Awkwardly, he arranged himself on the other side of the bed. Strange as it was, he felt more at ease fucking Nicolò than he did sleeping beside him. It seemed somehow more intimate.

“Did you like it?” Nicolò asked, and it sounded like an honest question, but Yusuf still huffed a laugh. 

“No. Had I not had a family to feed, I would have devoted myself to studying art or poetry.” 

“A family?” Nicolò looked at him strangely. “A—a wife and—children?”

“No, no—not yet, at least. Only my mother, and my sisters, at least those that were unwed.” 

Nicolò hummed in understanding, and Yusuf wondered if he had been raised to lead a conquering army, or if other circumstances in his life had dictated his path. He could ask, and perhaps this version of Nicolò, more a cat than a tiger, would answer him, but he did not _want_ to care, so when Nicolò did not say any more, he rolled on to his side and let uneasy sleep take him. 

———

The next morning, Nicolò and Yusuf broke their fast in silence until Nicolò spoke. 

“I am going to the market today,” he told Yusuf. “You may join me, if you wish.”

Yusuf gave him that familiar, suspicious look. It was beginning to grate on Nicolò—had he not proven that he would treat Yusuf with dignity so long as he showed Nicolò a modicum of respect? 

“Well?” Nicolò pressed, impatient.

Yusuf blinked. “I—yes,” he said. 

Nicolò nodded and turned his attention back to his food. Once they had finished, he brought Yusuf back to his chamber. He held up the shackles, which had been nearly kicked underneath the bed.

“Give me your word that you will not run, or seek to cause trouble,” Nicolò said, “or else you shall wear these.”

Yusuf’s eyes narrowed. “Why bring me, then, if you’re so concerned for my behavior?”

Nicolò frowned in return. “I thought you would like it. But if you would rather remain here—”

“I did not say that,” Yusuf said quickly. Nicolò tried not to smirk. Yusuf’s boredom yesterday had not escaped his notice. “I will be on my best behavior. You have my word.” 

Despite Yusuf’s sneer, Nicolò decided he could be trusted in this. He abandoned the chains, and they set off into town on Nicolò’s horse.

The market was busy this morning, and Nicolò saw many heads turn to stare. Yusuf scowled, and as they dismounted, he positioned himself closely behind Nicolò, though that did nothing to quell the whispers that had broken out.

“It seems everyone in this land is as rude as you,” Yusuf said in an undertone. 

Nicolò glared. “Your word, remember.”

Yusuf waved him off. “Yes, yes.” His gaze caught on something several stalls ahead, and Nicolò saw that it was a fruit that he had not seen in Yusuf’s country. 

“Go on,” Nicolò said. “But do not go far.” 

Again, that doubtful look. Nicolò stalked away, both to prove the truth of his words, and to get away from Yusuf.

Nicolò had no real necessary shopping to do—the servants handled that—but he meant to look at parchment and paints, anything that could keep Yusuf entertained. He had a hunch that the more bored Yusuf became, the less obedient he would be. 

Nicolò was examining a set of charcoal sticks when he noticed the commotion—raised voices, and a small crowd gathering. He turned, and he was not surprised when he saw Yusuf at the middle of it.

He pushed his way through the crowd where Yusuf stood off with Severino, the butcher. 

“What is this?” Nicolò demanded.

Severino turned to Nicolò, face red and eye already beginning to blacken. “Your prisoner struck me!”

Nicolò looked to Yusuf, who opened his mouth to speak. 

“Quiet,” Nicolò hissed.

“He was—groping a girl!” Yusuf shouted. His face was full of righteous anger. “I only told him to leave her alone. She was crying.”

“He is a fucking liar,” Severino spat.

“ _You_ are the liar!” 

Nicolò held up a hand and glanced around the gathered crowd. “Is it true?”

No one spoke. 

Nicolò turned to Yusuf. “Where is this girl?”

Yusuf looked at him, and his face fell. “She ran. She was afraid. I’m telling you the truth—”

“He has no proof!” Severino yelled. “And even if he did—what of it? Who is he, this foreign prisoner, this—bed slave, to strike me? You cannot allow it—sir,” he added quickly, addressing Nicolò. 

Nicolò stared at Yusuf’s face, full of indignation, and he knew Yusuf was not lying. But equally, he knew Severino was right—there was no proof, and even still, as a war prisoner Yusuf did not have the right to strike Severino, as deserving of it as he may have been.

Nicolò tore his gaze from Yusuf and looked back to Severino. “Very well,” he said. “What will you have as recompense?” 

“I would have him whipped,” Severino said viciously. “Twenty lashes.” 

Nicolò’s jaw clenched. “I will decide how many he deserves. But you will have your amends.” 

Severino looked satisfied with this outcome, but Nicolò felt Yusuf almost trembling beside him—and he knew it was as much from anger as it was from fear. 

He turned, and Yusuf would not look at him. His lips were pressed together, and his gaze was stony. 

“Come,” Nicolò said, and he took Yusuf’s arm. He pulled him to the post in the town center, and Severino—along with a small crowd—followed. Yusuf did not resist; he must have known it was futile. He held his head high as Nicolò led him to his fate, though he still would not meet Nicolò’s eyes.

Nicolò tugged Yusuf’s shirt from his back. Someone passed him a rope, and he bound Yusuf’s hands to the post quickly. He tried to make eye contact, desperate for some sort of absolution, but he found none. 

He stepped back behind Yusuf. Someone else had fetched a whip, and Nicolò was presented with the handle. He grasped it. Around him, the crowd was buzzing. He could tell they were eager for bloodshed—that many of them perhaps felt it was a fitting punishment for Yusuf, a man who had felled their husbands and brothers and sons, but the thought of what he was about to do made Nicolò’s stomach turn. 

Ten lashes, Nicolò told himself. It would not be so bad. 

He raised the whip.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love to hear what you think! Please hop in the comments and let me know.


	4. soft place to land

Yusuf shook as he stood bound to the post—not from fear of the lashing, though he knew it would hurt terribly, and he did dread it—but from fury. It was the lecherous man, the butcher, who should be paying for his crimes, yet Yusuf was being punished for coming to the aid of a frightened young girl.

More than ten townspeople had watched the entire scene play out, but when Nicolò asked them to confirm the truth of what Yusuf said, they said nothing. Were they craven, Yusuf wondered, or just hungry to watch a foreigner bleed?

If it was the latter, they would have their wish. 

The first lash fell, and it stung, a terrible pain like Yusuf had never felt, but he made no sound. He was determined that he would not scream and cry out in front of these people. 

Nicolò whipped him in a steady rhythm, and that made it easy for Yusuf to anticipate each blow—it may have even been intended as a small mercy, but Yusuf would certainly not be grateful to him, not after this. On the fourth strike, he felt his skin break open. He screwed his face and pressed it against the post, biting his cheek so hard he feared he would split that skin, too.

He kept count in his head, though maybe he would do better to try to push the present from his mind entirely. Perhaps he would even pass out from the pain. 

Eight. Nine. Ten. The man had demanded twenty. Yusuf braced himself for the next lash, but it did not come.

“Ten lashes,” Nicolò said, voice loud and carrying. “It is done.”

Yusuf sagged in his bonds, blinking tears of pain from his eyes. Nicolò’s broad hands came to his wrists and untied his hands. Though it took all his strength, Yusuf kept himself upright—he did not want to collapse at all, much less into Nicolò’s arms. 

Nicolò tried to help Yusuf back into his shirt, but Yusuf jerked away. He pulled it over his own head, though his entire back lit up with pain at the movement, and the feel of the fabric on his open, bleeding skin was nearly unbearable. Nicolò’s gaze was equally chafing—he looked at Yusuf almost as though he was hurt by Yusuf’s pain, as though he had not been the source of his suffering.

Someone had fetched Nicolò’s horse. Nicolò approached Yusuf, perhaps to help him mount, but he shrugged off Nicolò’s hands and clambered on to the horse himself in a motions that were as painful as they were ungainly. It was still better than letting Nicolò touch him.

Yusuf kept his gaze fixed straight ahead and his back ramrod straight, ignoring all the stares of the people who remained behind to gawk. They had only just reached the edge of the town when Yusuf passed out from pain.

He came back to consciousness and at first the only thing he knew was the searing stinging up and down his spine. He forced himself to breathe through it in order to taken in his surroundings. It only took him a moment to see he’d been brought back to Nicolò’s chambers. He was on the bed, laying on his stomach with his head turned to the side. 

Something touched his back, and he let out a strangled cry.

“You’re awake,” came Nicolò’s voice from above.

Yusuf grit his teeth. “Do not _touch_ me,” he hissed. 

“These wounds must be cleaned,” Nicolò said. 

“There would be no wounds to clean, if not for you,” Yusuf snapped, and Nicolò did not reply. Yusuf was too out of his mind with pain to worry about what his silence meant.

“I can ask a servant to do this, if that is your preference,” Nicolò said finally, voice tight. 

Yusuf cursed under his breath, in his own tongue. 

Nicolò waited.

“You have already begun,” Yusuf said. “You might as well continue.” 

“I will be gentle,” Nicolò told him. “As gentle as I can.”

Yusuf scoffed, but he held still when he felt the warm, damp cloth dabbing at his split skin. There was an uneasy silence between them. He had the sense that Nicolò felt guilty for carrying out his peoples’ demented form of justice, but it hadn’t stopped him from raising the whip, again, again—

“Your skin is clean now,” Nicolò said, and Yusuf realized there had been no movement for several minutes. “I had them fetch you a new shirt. Silk.” 

Slowly, Yusuf pushed himself to sit. He faced Nicolò and saw he was holding out a shirt, loose and finely made, as though it were an olive branch.

Yusuf longed to tear it in two, to throw it back in Nicolò’s face, because this was as much of an apology as he would ever hear, and even though it was no apology at all, it was still more than he could have hoped to expect from any other invader, if the demonstration at the market was anything to go by. 

The terrible unfairness of it all struck him. Tears burned in his eyes, and once he realized what was about to happen, there was no stopping it. He began to cry, a terrible howling that made it sound as if he was being whipped again. He put his face in his hands, attempting to hide from Nicolò, though that was hopeless. 

“Yusuf.” Nicolò’s voice was so quiet that Yusuf barely heard it, and he pretended not to. Then there was a hand on his shoulder, a hand on his neck. Both tugged him forward into Nicolò’s arms, and he went stiffly. 

“I was telling the truth,” Yusuf said through his tears, and for good measure he called Nicolò several rude names he would not be able to understand.

He felt Nicolò swallow. “I know you were,” he said. 

Yusuf swore again, then cried for so long he soaked the front of Nicolò’s shirt with his tears. When his sobs tapered off, he pulled away from Nicolò and blindly grabbed for the silk shirt, careful to avoid Nicolò’s eyes.

When his hand closed around it, Nicolò took his wrist and pried the shirt from his fingers.

He held up the shirt so Yusuf could put his head through it, careful to let the fabric fall very carefully against Yusuf’s back. 

Nicolò took Yusuf’s face in his hands, and Yusuf had no choice but to look in him in the eye. 

“It is done,” Nicolò said. “Be at peace.” He let his forehead press against Yusuf’s for a moment, and Yusuf clenched his eyes shut, overcome with a fresh desire to sob, scream, or spar.

Be at peace, said the man who had brought war to Yusuf’s home. 

Exhausted, Yusuf closed his eyes and let Nicolò lay him down. 

———

Sleep often eluded Nicolò, but he slept especially poorly that night. Every time Yusuf turned in his sleep, he let out a stream of pained noises. Each one lashed against Nicolò’s conscience like the sound of the whip. 

He rose early and made for the market, this time alone. He found the man who had the charcoal sticks and bought the set, along with the finest parchment paper the man sold. 

When he returned to his chambers, Yusuf stirred into wakefulness. He hissed as he pushed himself to sit up in bed, and he looked at Nicolò suspiciously. 

Something heavy settled in the pit of Nicolò’s stomach as realized Yusuf might only ever look at him that way after what he’d done.

“These are for you,” he blurted, and hastened to set the parchment and charcoal at Yusuf’s feet.

Yusuf’s eyes narrowed. “For what purpose?”

“Your—entertainment. Your enjoyment. When—when you feel well enough,” Nicolò said.

“I’ve been whipped, not struck with plague,” Yusuf said sharply. Still, Nicolò was heartened as he watched Yusuf’s fingers trace over the paper.

“Well,” Nicolò said awkwardly. “Shall we break our fast? Then you may—draw. If you like.” 

Yusuf’s face shifted into an unreadable expression. “Very well,” he said, voice bland. 

Yusuf dressed and joined Nicolò for an uneventful meal. After they ate, Yusuf disappeared to Nicolò’s mother’s abandoned study and drew with his charcoal until Nicolò sought him out for the evening meal.

That night, as Yusuf stripped down to his small clothes and the silk shirt before getting into bed, Nicolò’s cock twitched. He wanted to fuck Yusuf, but he knew pressing him against the bed would cause him further pain, so he rolled over on his side and shut his eyes. He only had to picture Yusuf’s bleeding back for a second before he felt his hardness dissipate. 

The next three days passed in a similar fashion. They saw each other for meals and for sleeping, but Yusuf seemed content to lock himself away (or at least away from Nicolò) the rest of the time. The only deviation came on the fourth day, when Yusuf requested a bath. Nicolò insisted on checking Yusuf’s wounds before letting him bathe unsupervised, but when he saw that the terrible cuts had already begun to scab—not to mention the stony displeasure on Yusuf’s face—he allowed it. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò said that night before he extinguished the lamp. “I—I want to have you, if you are healed enough.” 

Yusuf gave him a searching look. “I told you, I have not caught my death.”

“But your back—”

“Have me from behind, then, if you wish,” Yusuf said, and he almost sounded angry—as though he dared Nicolò to do it, as though Nicolò was the one in need of convincing. He rolled on to his belly and glared over his shoulder.

Nicolò hesitated. “It will not hurt you?”

“Not if you bother to prepare me this time.”

Nicolò felt his face heat, but he refused to be goaded into whatever strange game Yusuf was playing. “I will,” he said, trying to force his voice into calmness. “Remove your underthings.”

As Yusuf did as he was bid, Nicolò tipped the lamp oil into his palm. When he turned back, he was presented with the sight of Yusuf’s bare ass and beaten back. 

Yusuf spread his legs and pulled his knees underneath his chest, presenting himself. 

Nicolò fought the shaking of his hand as he knelt between Yusuf’s legs. He used the oil to slick his fingers, then used his clean hand to part Yusuf’s ass. He ran a single finger over the tight pucker of skin, marveling at the sight of it before pressing in.

Yusuf’s breathing was even but heavy. 

“Do you enjoy this?” Nicolò asked. 

Yusuf twisted to stare at him. “Getting fucked by you?”

Nicolò could venture to guess the answer to that. He shook his head. “Being— _prepared_ like this.”

Yusuf’s dark eyes were wide, bottomless as he gazed at Nicolò. “I prefer having my hole licked,” he said, tone dispassionate. 

Nicolò’s face was hot again. “You—” He swallowed. 

Yusuf shrugged a shoulder. “You asked.” He let his head drop back to the pillow.

Nicolò curled the finger he had in Yusuf’s ass, thinking fast. He was not entirely sure Yusuf wasn’t trying to trick him into doing something humiliating, but the thought was making his blood boil, so he removed his finger and licked a long stripe up Yusuf’s cleft before he could second-guess himself.

Yusuf made a startled noise. 

“Like that?” Nicolò asked, ignoring how raspy his voice had become. He did not wait for answer before circling Yusuf’s hole with his tongue. 

Yusuf said something in his own language, and Nicolò took that for a positive sign. He licked until his own face was wet, then he worked his tongue into Yusuf’s ass. It was a disgusting, filthy thing to do, and it made Nicolò’s hips hump against the bed. 

Yusuf may not have expected Nicolò to call his bluff, but he must not have been lying about his enjoyment of the act—his hips lifted and pushed back against Nicolò’s face, and he was moaning and groaning, a surprising but welcome change from their past encounters.

Nicolò lifted his face and pushed two slick fingers into Yusuf with ease. “Are you prepared now, then?” he asked breathlessly.

Yusuf’s face was buried in the pillow. He nodded into it, hands fisted in the bedding, and rose until he was kneeling, though his chest was still pressed to the mattress.

Nicolò disrobed hastily and knelt behind him. He was careful not to touch any of the lash marks as he gripped Yusuf’s hips and slid into that tight, perfect heat. 

“You—” Nicolò cut off with a moan. 

“What?” Yusuf had turned his head again. “What?”

Nicolò rocked into Yusuf with shallow thrusts, desperate to make this last longer than it had the last time. “You feel good,” he said, and Yusuf let out a shaky breath.

He shifted his hold on Yusuf’s hips for better leverage and pushed in again, and Yusuf gasped, his face scrunched as if in pain.

“What—” Nicolò forced himself into stillness. “Your back?”

Yusuf shook his head. “No,” he said, voice strained. “That—keep that angle.”

“This?” Nicolò moved his hips forward, and Yusuf cried out.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, then hissed more words Nicolò could not understand. “That.”

Nicolò repeated the motion, then again, harder and harder, faster and faster, and he revelled in all the sounds Yusuf made. It compounded his own pleasure, and soon he could hold back no longer. He spent into Yusuf and nearly collapsed on top of him, but at the last moment he remembered his injured back and fell back on the bed, chest heaving. 

Yusuf rolled on to his side. His breath came in pants, too, and Nicolò saw the spot where his hips had been was wet with his own release. 

Nicolò ignored the bewildered look on Yusuf’s face as he surged to close the space between them. He kissed him for a long time, and it seemed that Yusuf did not care where Nicolò’s mouth had last been; he kissed him back, perhaps not with Nicolò’s passion, but with considerably more finesse. 

They kissed until Nicolò was breathless. He pulled away and Yusuf’s eyes glittered in the lamplight. 

“Move over,” Yusuf said suddenly.

Nicolò frowned as Yusuf’s foot pushed him further to the side of the bed. Then, to his shock, Yusuf moved to the middle of the bed so he was pressed close to Nicolò.

“I do not want to sleep in my own spend,” Yusuf said, and though his tone was as haughty as ever, his eyes were already drooping closed. 

Nicolò held still, irrationally afraid any movement would jar Yusuf, until he fell asleep, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RL has been a bit of a grind lately so :/ Really appreciate hearing what you thought—your comments mean a lot to me! Feel free to say hi on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/%22) too.


	5. nothing is as it was

Time passed strangely for Yusuf. Weeks went by in a slow, predictable drag, but suddenly the season had changed, and the weather turned colder than it ever did in Yusuf’s home. Even the well-made house became drafty, and Yusuf no longer felt any shame at curling next to Nicolò at night—it was the only way he could get warm enough to sleep. 

During the day, Nicolò typically left Yusuf to his own devices (he drew and attempted to teach himself to read in Nicolò’s language using the dusty books), but he had him most nights. He was getting better and better at it, and it somehow annoyed Yusuf, that getting fucked by Nicolò was something he’d come to look forward to.

Even the previous night, Nicolò had sat up in bed, his back to to the wall, and watched as Yusuf opened himself on Nicolò’s instructions before climbing into his lap. Yusuf had clutched at Nicolò’s broad shoulders as he raised himself up and down on his cock, and Nicolò had wrapped one of his big hands around Yusuf’s cock, and before Yusuf knew it he was coming in hot spurts. 

Nicolò fucked him through it, kissing his shoulder and biting his lips and looking at him with those hungry eyes. After he spent inside Yusuf, Nicolò had held him in his arms. Their foreheads had pressed together, and they did not kiss but their lips were so close they shared the same breath. Even though Nicolò’s softening cock was still inside him, something about their still closeness felt unbearably intimate, and Yusuf had wiggled away. 

Now, he sat sketching in the book-filled room when Nicolò appeared at the door. Yusuf looked out the window, wondering if mealtime had come without him realizing it, but based on the position of the sun it was still late morning. 

Nicolò approached, eyes flitting to Yusuf’s parchment, and Yusuf quickly crumpled the scrap he’d been working on in his hand. The larger piece he was trying to complete was a landscape, the view of his family’s farm from the top of the hill, but viridian eyes set in an angular face kept driving him to distraction. Still, he only ever drew Nicolò in the margins, on small bits that could be easily fed to the fire. 

Nicolò looked at parchment balled in Yusuf’s hand curiously, but then he asked, “Do you ride?”

“I—yes.”

“This afternoon, then, we will go riding. I have a new colt that I must train,” Nicolò said. 

“Very well,” Yusuf said slowly, feeling disoriented by the break in routine. He’d accompanied Nicolò to the market several times since their disastrous first trip (and now he always kept close to Nicolò, having come to the painful conclusion that a false sense of independence was not worth another lashing), but for the most part he’d not left the house. 

“Eat if you wish, then change. I have left more suitable clothing for you in the bed chamber.” 

_The_ bed chamber, Yusuf thought. It was not _theirs_ , but it was no longer just Nicolò’s, either. 

Yusuf had a quick, light meal, then changed into his new attire. The clothes were made of sturdier material than his daily wear, which was more suited to languishing about in some nobleman’s manor than for riding or laboring outside.

When he was dressed, Yusuf met Nicolò at the stables. Silently, as always, a servant presented him with the reins to Nicolò’s bay stallion, and he mounted the horse as Nicolò finished saddling the new colt. It looked close to grown, and it had a comely roan coat. 

“Where shall we ride?” Yusuf asked after Nicolò had mounted and sent the servant away. 

“Around the property,” Nicolò said. “You still have not seen the whole of it, have you?”

Yusuf shook his head and followed Nicolò out of the stable. They rode around the perimeter of Nicolò’s extensive property, spurring the horses to a gallop. The colt was more or less obedient, though every so often it showed signs of defiance as it neighed angrily or yanked impatiently against the reins. Yusuf felt a strange kinship with the animal.

They stopped at a small pond to let the horses drink.

“You are a good rider,” Nicolò said. 

Yusuf shrugged. He had grown to enjoy Nicolò’s compliments, in part because he knew they were given without any artifice, but he did not want Nicolò to know that was the case. “I rode often in my travels, before.”

Nicolò’s eyes were bright and keen. “Do you miss it?” 

“What—trade?” 

Nicolò shook his head. “Your home.”

Yusuf looked away. The answer was yes, of course he did, but his throat felt a little tight at the thought, so he was silent.

“I do not blame you,” Nicolò said quietly, and Yusuf glanced back at him with shock. “But I think we met on the battlefield for a reason.”

Yusuf felt his temper rise. “The reason was that you and your people invaded my home,” he bit out. 

“It was more than that,” Nicolò said. “It was destiny. The rest was only circumstance.”

Yusuf snorted. “You are mad.”

“Say what you like. But we are bound together, you and I.”

Yusuf supposed that was true, but it was because Nicolò had slapped him in _chains_. He was ill with the entire conversation, though, so he held his tongue. 

Nicolò was still looking at Yusuf, gaze as stormy and intent as ever, when Yusuf saw motion out of the corner of his eye. It was an animal, a blur of furry red, that darted past, and Nicolò’s colt spooked. 

Nicolò had not seen the fox, and he had not been prepared for the horse’s sudden movement. He was thrown off as the colt reared up in fright. 

Yusuf swore and jumped from his own horse. He yoked the prancing colt’s reins to the stallion’s saddle and hurried to where Nicolò lay unmoving a few feet away.

He pressed a hand to Nicolò’s neck and felt for his wrist with the other, seeking a pulse. He found one, slow and steady, and he determined Nicolò was only knocked unconscious from the fall. It was impossible to say for certain, but he didn’t appear to have any broken bones, though he’d likely end up with some bruises. 

Yusuf was surprised by his own relief. 

It was only relief because it meant he would not be held at fault for Nicolò’s death, he told himself. He doubted the servants and townspeople would hesitate to string him up for their own enjoyment, disguised as justice. 

Then, another possibility settled over him—he could leave now. With the stallion, Yusuf could ride fast and far before Nicolò ever roused. He could even bring the colt with him and barter it along the way. 

He looked down at Nicolò, and he hesitated.

Then he swore again. Had he truly been fucked out of his senses? 

Yusuf needed to flee. Every moment he delayed lessened his chances of a clean escape, yet he could not shake his reluctance to leave Nicolò. Perhaps months on his back had made him a coward, or perhaps he’d simply grown attached to Nicolò because he had so little contact with anyone else. 

Or perhaps there was some truth to Nicolò’s mad ramblings. It was, at least, the most flattering explanation as to why Yusuf bent and, with some effort, lifted Nicolò’s limp body on to the stallion. 

With the troublesome colt in tow, they began to ride back.

———

Nicolò woke, and light was streaming in through the bedchamber window. He blinked against it—it seemed especially bright. His head pounded.

He raised a hand to cover his eyes, and then there was movement beside him. 

“You’ve awakened.”

Nicolò squinted to make out Yusuf’s form. He was seated next to the bed in a chair that must have been dragged from another room—the study, perhaps—and he had a mess of crumpled parchment at his feet. 

Yusuf stood and drew the curtains. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” Nicolò said. “I—” He could not remember exactly how he came to be here, and it was a deeply disturbing feeling. 

“Do you remember?” Yusuf asked.

Nicolò remembered who he was, he remembered who Yusuf was, and he specifically remembered fucking Yusuf in a number of ways, but most recently he remembered Yusuf writhing in his lap, rocking up and down on his cock, making small broken noises and digging his nails into Nicolò’s shoulders. 

Nicolò swallowed, unwilling to reveal how little he recalled of how he came to feel like this.

“The colt,” Yusuf prodded. “We went riding.”

In a rush, it came back—finding Yusuf in the study, riding over the property, talking by the pond. 

“Yes,” Nicolò said. “But what—” He could not remember past the pond. For a wild moment he wondered if Yusuf had attacked him, but then he recognized the mad thought for what it was—why would Yusuf be sitting across from him now if he had harmed him earlier?

“There was an animal—a fox, I think. It ran by and startled the colt. It bucked and threw you off.” 

Perhaps being attacked would have been less shameful, Nicolò thought. 

“You were unconscious,” Yusuf continued. “But I brought you back, and it’s only been several hours, I think.” 

Nicolò nodded as he made sense of it all. He tried to picture the scene—himself, unmoving and unknowing on the ground, Yusuf alone with two horses. It would have been so easy then for Yusuf to hurt him, or to run away, but Yusuf had done neither. 

Whether or not Yusuf believed in the divine nature of their meeting, his very actions proved it. 

“Shall I fetch a servant?” Yusuf asked. “They may send for a physician.”

Nicolò shook his head and reached for Yusuf’s wrist. “No,” he said, and he linked their fingers together. “Stay with me. I will be well.”

Yusuf gave him a strange look, but he settled back into his chair and did not move. Nicolò’s eyes drifted shut once more. 

When Nicolò woke again, he could tell by the darkness of the room that night had fallen. Yusuf was no longer in the chair, but in his usual spot next to Nicolò. 

As Nicolò stirred, Yusuf blinked his eyes open. “Awake again,” he murmured. “Will you accept treatment now?”

“No,” Nicolò said. “None is needed.” And it was true—his head no longer ached, at least. 

Yusuf’s eyes glinted back at him in the dark.

“You brought me here, when you could have left, or worse,” Nicolò said. “The honorable thing would be to give you leave to return to your home.”

He saw Yusuf’s eyes grow wide, and he pressed ahead. “But it is as I said. We are linked.” He reached again for Yusuf’s hand. “The way I feel for you—I cannot be honorable.” 

Yusuf’s eyes closed as he tugged his hand from Nicolò’s. He rolled to this other side without a word, and after long minutes of heavy silence, Nicolò fell back asleep.

The next morning, Nicolò had either slept much longer than usual or Yusuf had risen uncharacteristically early. When he pulled back the curtains, he thought it likely that it was some combination of both. He dressed and ate a quick meal before setting out to find Yusuf, though he did not need to look far—he found him in the study. He was posed as though reading one of Nicolò’s mother’s books, but his eyes stared unmoving at the pages in front of it.

“Can you read it?” Nicolò asked, bemused.

Yusuf started and looked up. “I am learning,” he said tightly. 

How, Nicolò wanted to ask, but he decided against it. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, and took in Yusuf’s appearance. His hair had grown out over the months and was beginning to hang over his forehead in tight curls. He was leaner than when they met on the battlefield, but still muscled. 

Yusuf frowned. “You are unnerving me with your staring.”

“Stand up,” Nicolò said, and he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

Predictably, Yusuf did not move. “Why?” His body was tensed, coil as if ready to spring into a fight.

Nicolò fought a smile. “Trust me.”

Yusuf gave him a scathing look, but he stood. 

Nicolò came up behind him and spun him around to face the small writing desk he worked from. He pulled Yusuf’s soft linen trousers down to his ankles, and Yusuf made a small, indignant sound. Nicolò ignored it and rested a hand on the small of Yusuf’s back, gently guiding his spine to curve. 

Once Yusuf was bent over, Nicolò dropped to his knees. He spread Yusuf’s cheeks and alternated kissing and licking his hole until Yusuf began to rattle off foreign curses. 

Nicolò licked up Yusuf’s cleft, then replaced his tongue with a single finger. He rubbed at the ring of muscle.

“Yusuf,” he said, and he waited, finger still circling.

Yusuf swore again and looked over his shoulder. His curls were tousled from his own hands, and his eyes were wild. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” 

Yusuf shut his eyes, chest heaving. “What—what is this.”

“A question,” Nicolò said. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“What happens if I say no?”

Nicolò’s jaw clenched. “I will leave. You can spend into your hand, or return to your…reading.” 

“Why now?” Yusuf demanded.

“What?”

“Why now? Why are you asking this of me _now_?” Yusuf was angry, and he was beautiful. He’d looked the same when he and Nicolò first clashed swords. 

Nicolò felt his heart knock against his ribs. “Because before, your answer did not matter to me,” he admitted.

Yusuf’s mouth hung open. His face was usually so easy for Nicolò to read—even Yusuf’s shuttered expressions meant something—but now the mix of emotions was indecipherable. 

Finally, Yusuf swallowed. “Fuck me.”

Nicolò pushed the very tip of his finger into Yusuf. “I asked if you wanted me to.”

Yusuf’s hand slapped down against the desk. “Fine, then—yes, Nicolò, I want you to fuck me. Are you satisfied?”

With one vicious push, Nicolò had two fingers in Yusuf, who groaned. “Not yet,” he said. He curled them, taking care to press on the spot inside Yusuf that made him nearly scream. 

“Are you ready for me?” Nicolò asked breathlessly as he pushed down his own trousers. 

“Yes,” Yusuf said, and he still sounded somehow petulant, but he only moaned as Nicolò began to fuck him from behind. His grip on Yusuf’s hips was vicious, and he watched, entranced, as Yusuf’s long, thin fingers clawed for purchase at the ancient wood of desk. 

Nicolò tried to block out the all-encompassing pleasure he felt as he fucked Yusuf, determined to drive him over the edge first. He reached around for Yusuf’s cock and stroked it in the way he knew Yusuf liked. Yusuf humped forward into his hand on one beat and thrust backward on to his cock on the next, all the while making low, guttural noises that slowly ate away at any thought Nicolò had that was not Yusuf, Yusuf, Yusuf. 

The minute he felt Yusuf start to come in his hand, Nicolò let out a long moan of his own. Yusuf’s hole tightened around his cock as Yusuf shuddered through his orgasm, and Nicolò abandoned self-restraint to rabbit his hips into Yusuf without any finesse. 

Nicolò’s legs gave out after he came, and he brought Yusuf down with him. They half-slid, half-fell to the floor and ended up with their backs to the desk as they set their clothes to rights. Nicolò wiped his sticky hand on the coarse floor rug and tried not to think of what his mother would say. 

Yusuf was watching him with equal parts wariness and curiosity. 

“Peace,” Nicolò said tiredly, and held up his hands. “I have treated you—regrettably. I know it. Will you forgive me?”

Yusuf huffed his own tired laugh. “Have I any choice?”

“You have always had a choice,” Nicolò told him. 

Yusuf looked at him with surprise. “I suppose,” he said slowly. “And they have all led to you.”

“Destiny,” Nicolò said. 

Yusuf ran a hand over his face and stared out the window, seemingly lost in thought. When he turned back to Nicolò, his eyes gleamed. “Then I suppose I must forgive you,” he said. 

Nicolò held out his clean hand, and Yusuf took it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was uhhh kind of a whole journey for me but I'm happy with how things turned out—and I hope you enjoyed, too. If that's the case, please leave a comment! You can also always find me on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/).


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